I always treated writing as a profession, never as a hobby. If you don't believe in yourself, no one else will.

I got out my jar of ointment. I knew animators who had special containers for the ointment. Crockery, hand-blown glass, mystical symbols carved into the sides. I used an old Mason jar that had once held Grandma Blake's green beans. Larry fished out a peanut butter jar with the label still on it. Extra-crunchy. Yum-Yum.

What do you do when you know you are breaking someone's heart, but to do anything else would break your own?

If I let you get killed, the other body guards will make fun of me.

Walking your path doesn't mean you don't hurt, it means the pain is worth the progress. Sometimes you have to break something down in order to remake it, and that includes yourself, or it did for me. There were moments when I wept for an easier road, but in the end I would not trade my path for anyone else's. It is mine and the traveling of it has made me who I am, and continues to shape and remold me into the best, happiest, most productive, most playful me, I've ever been.

You can't kill us all, human.' He was right. I raised the machine gun a little. 'True, but who's going to be first in line?

He didn't look the least bit tired. A morning person, even after no sleep at all. It was disgusting.